Crusader

by Edward Bloor

  Angela put a tiny receiver in her ear, then covered it with her long red hair.

  Bill said, "Ready for intro, Angela. On five, four, three, two, one."

  Angela spoke into the camera: "By day, it's a typical kids' arcade in a typical South Florida mall. But what happens here when the mall is closed and the doors are locked will shock you—on today's Angela live!"

  The camera light went off. The opening montage came up on the Sony monitor next to Angela. She remained in place, reading notes on a small card. Then Bill said into her earpiece, "We're back in five, four, three, two, one."

  Angela continued, "You have seen them in the mall—without direction, without education, with no apparent sense of pride or self-respect—America's lost tribes of teenagers. In Africa, warlords would put machine guns in their hands, creating private armies of violent, unthinking children, ready to do their bidding, no matter what it is. Could that happen here?"

  Angela spun around, and the cameraman got a wider view. "This is Arcane—The Virtual Reality Arcade. Teenagers come here to spend their last dollars on ultraviolent 'experiences' that seem frighteningly real. In many a tortured teenage mind, they are real."

  Angela stood beside the Crusader. "Meet the future. Meet three teenagers who spend their lives in a state of virtual reality. They live only to pump money into mindblowing arcade games. Let me introduce you first to a youngster known only as Ironman."

  As she stepped toward him, Will spoke up immediately, before Angela could even ask him a question. He said, "Satanic stuff. Heavy metal Satan worshiping."

  Angela answered, "Uh-huh. I see. And do you think these virtual reality experiences fuel that?" Will looked at her dumbly. She tried, "Do they make you want to worship Satan?"

  Will looked at Kristin, who nodded. He repeated, "Yeah. Satan-worship stuff."

  "Satan? The prince of darkness? The source of all evil?" Will didn't answer. Angela looked into the camera. "Ironman is in his own twisted world, where reality itself is just another arcade game. We'll be back in a moment."

  Bill yelled to Mr. McKay, "Watch out. She's going to a commercial."

  The studio quickly took over the feed.

  Angela spun around and looked for her producer. "Mrs. Knight? Did we prep these people?"

  Mrs. Knight turned red. She answered, "I think Roberta prepped them."

  "Yeah, well, Roberta is not my producer. You are."

  Mrs. Knight turned red with shame. "I'm sorry, Angela."

  Angela turned back to Will. She pointed a long red nail at his nose. "Do you have any other words that you could possibly work into your story? Or is this it?"

  Will looked her in the eye. "Why? Isn't this what you want?"

  Angela thought that over. She answered, "Okay. I guess I can work with this. You're possessed, right? It's a case of demonic possession?"

  Will nodded. "Sure."

  Bill warned her, "We're back in five, four, three..."

  Angela looked into the camera. "Welcome back to the twisted reality of these American teenagers. Do any of them look familiar to you?" She moved toward Betty. "Betty the Witch, why do you call yourself that?"

  "For you."

  "Pardon me?"

  "I call myself that because you want me to."

  "I want you to? But I don't even know you."

  Betty pointed to Will and Karl. "All of us, we're doing exactly what you want us to do. You want us to be scuzzbags so that you'll have somebody to look down on. So that you can feel better about yourself. So that you can say, 'At least I'm not a Nazi, Satan-worshiping witch hanging out in a scuzzbag mall.' So here we are. Look down on us and feel better. We're your four o'clock freak show for the day."

  Angela said, "That's interesting. That's very interesting. Do the rest of you feel that way?"

  She turned the mike to Will, who looked around for Kristin. Not seeing her in the lights, he mumbled, "Satan stuff."

  Angela closed in on him, looking to change the topic. "What's that on your shirt? A death's-head? Does that signify allegiance to Satan?"

  Will shot a quick look at Betty. Then he answered, very articulately, "No. It signifies a shirt. That's all. My mom makes them next door. She'll put whatever you want on there. You have to be very specific, though, or she might mess it up."

  Angela stared at him hopelessly, then she snapped out of it. She turned to the camera. "Let's take a look at some of these heavy-metal groups in action, and at some of the Satanic symbols and imagery they employ."

  The Sony monitor filled with a dark montage of rock videos while Angela rounded on Mrs. Knight. "What the hell is going on here?"

  Mrs. Knight hung her head.

  When the videos ended, Angela moved the mike over to Karl. "Skinhead Karl, tell me something: Why do you have HEIL HITLER written on your shirt?"

  Karl looked into the camera. I could see that his eyes were out of focus. But he answered clearly enough, "Why don't you have HEIL HITLER written on yours?"

  "For a number of very good reasons, Karl. Hitler was a monster responsible for the deaths of millions. Why would you walk around with the name of someone like that written on your shirt?"

  Karl seemed at a loss to answer that one. He tried, "Why wouldn't I?"

  Angela looked at the camera. "One of Arcane's most popular virtual reality experiences is called Krystallnacht. In that experience, for five dollars, you can join Nazi stormtroopers beating and killing German Jews. We've come a long way since Pacman. Let's take a look."

  My Arcane video came on, without sound, so that Angela could talk over it. "Watch with me, Karl, and tell me: When you play these virtual reality games, like this Krystallnacht, do you actually think you're in Nazi Germany?"

  Karl replied, "No. To tell you the truth, I'm not really a skinhead. I just have bad skin. I bought these boots, and I wrote on the shirt with a Magic Marker."

  The video soon ended. Angela must have felt punch-drunk by now, but she maintained control. She pretended Karl had never spoken. She took a step toward the right, toward Sam. "All right. Let me talk to Samir Samad for a moment. Sam, you are an Arab. You were the victim of a hate crime that directly followed an illegal after-hours party with hardcore, racist virtual reality experiences. Watch with me now as we show the audience part of a tape from an Arcane experience called Crusader."

  Bill popped in the tape, and the screen filled with the image of a turbaned Arab's head being cut off and spewing out blood. The tape ended quickly. Angela picked up, "We can't show you much more on TV. Tell me, Sam, do you feel like one of those people?"

  "No. Not really. I grew up in California."

  "You were attacked following a late-night party during which people played virtual reality games like this. Were you not?"

  "Yes."

  "What did the mob do to you?"

  "Well, it wasn't a mob. It was one guy. He didn't actually do anything to me. He did things to my store. And to my car."

  "Didn't this hate crime happen because you're an Arab?"

  "No. It turns out it was all about money. About recapitalizing the mall. By the way, I'd like to encourage your viewers to come shop at the West End Mall."

  Angela looked into the camera. She spoke flatly. "We'll be right back with someone who has been fighting against hate crimes and racism in the West End Mall, state senate candidate Ray Lyons."

  Another commercial came on. Angela looked at Mrs. Knight and told her bluntly, "This show is a loser."

  Betty suddenly spoke up. "You're the loser, lady. You should look at yourself in a mirror sometime."

  Angela turned to Betty and told her, in a voice loud enough to carry into the mallway, "You're entitled to your opinion, Broomhilda, but not on my show. Now get the hell out of here."

  Betty said, "No problem. I'm bored, anyway. This is stupid. You're stupid."

  Angela was struggling now to keep cool. She rounded on her other guests. "I'll tell you what—I'd like to replace all four of you."

  Betty slid off
the stool, walked out into the mallway, and kept on going. Karl, Will, and Sam stayed put.

  Suddenly a voice shouted out of the audience. It was Nina. She cried, "Angela! Yo, Angela! Maybe I could take her place."

  Angela stepped over the cables and regarded Nina closely. I guess she was actually considering it, but then she said, "No. You don't look like a witch."

  Nina was frantic. "Okay. I—I could be something else."

  "What?"

  "I could be Nina the Nympho."

  Dr. Navarro's eyes snapped wide open. He shouted, "Prin-cesa!"

  Nina turned to him. "No. It wouldn't be true, Papi. I'd just be pretending. They're all just pretending. That's what you have to do to get on the show. You have to act like you're really messed up."

  "You will pretend no such thing. Think of your family. Think of your mother."

  She made one last plea to Angela, "What about Nina the Klepto?"

  Dr. Navarro looked at his daughter closely—like he was examining her with his laser glasses, like he was seeing her for the first time.

  Angela walked away and posed to start the next segment.

  Bill counted it off, "Five, four, three..."

  "Let me bring my last guest into the mix. He is the developer and owner of the West End Mall, which is the scene of our show today. He is also a candidate for the state senate, Ray Lyons."

  Ray Lyons entered Arcane from the back office. He sat on Betty's stool and started to drone on about hate crimes. He was opposed to hate crimes against hardworking people like Sam. He was opposed to Satan-worshiping Nazis like Karl and Ironman.

  Karl appeared to be completely zoned, and Angela knew it. She didn't direct any questions to him. She didn't direct any questions to anyone else, either. She didn't seem to care anymore. She let Mr. Lyons hijack the show.

  I stood in the booth next to Bill with my hands motionless at my sides. I was devastated. I was humiliated. I felt like crawling into a ditch and dying. My plan was ridiculous, and I was ridiculous, and we were all going to lose everything because of me.

  I lowered my head to cry, but no tears would come. I was still standing with my head down on my chest when I heard Bill mutter to Mr. McKay. "Oh no, check out Camera Two. The skinhead is moving."

  I looked out through the glass. Karl had stepped down from his stool. He was staring all around, like he might not know where he was.

  Bill said, "Camera Two, get on Skinhead Karl." Then he spoke into the ear mike. "Angela, watch out. The skinhead is moving."

  Angela spun toward Karl. She held up five long fingernails to Ray Lyons and told him, "Just a minute, Ray."

  She moved slowly toward Karl, as you might approach a wild animal. "Skinhead Karl? Are you all right?" She asked Will and Sam, "What's happening? Is he dangerous?"

  Will answered, "Oh yes, I'd say so."

  Karl extended both arms and lurched forward, stiff legged, across the carpet, like Frankenstein in platform shoes. He went straight for the Crusader and clamped his big hands around the handle of that jeweled sword.

  Angela said, "What's he doing now?" But no one answered her.

  With a manic shriek, Karl yanked the Crusader's sword free, ripping it right out of the chain-mail gloves, exposing the wound-wire body to the air for the first time since we put him together. Karl then brandished the sword high over his head, continuing to shriek.

  Angela started shrieking, too, "Skinhead Karl! Stop it! Put that down!"

  But there was no stopping Karl now. He was a teenage psycho zombie from hell. He lurched toward Bill's one-hundred-thousand-dollar soundboard. He brought the sword down on it with a mighty whack, and the board gave up a shower of red sparks. Then he reared back and did it again. And again.

  Bill turned to me and yelled, "What's he doing to my board?"

  I watched Karl give it several more whacks. "Whompin on it," I explained to him calmly. "He's whompin' on it."

  Bill ripped off his headset and ran out to try to save the soundboard. I pulled the headset on in time to hear, "Bill! Where the hell are you?"

  I said, "I'm here, Mr. McKay. This is Roberta, the intern."

  "Oh, good, Roberta. Do you know what to do with the promo tape? Did Bill show you?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "All right, then. Go ahead and push it in. We've seen enough of this."

  I pulled the Angela promo tape out of the slot and laid it on the console. I reached into my backpack, pulled out my own tape, and slid it in. The Sony monitor filled up with the tanned face of Ray Lyons. He was sitting in a chair, in the mall office, back on September 25.

  I glanced quickly out the window. Bill and Karl had squared off against each other, face-to-face, over the shattered soundboard. Joe the bodyguard and two sheriff's deputies were circling behind Karl. Karl still held the Crusader sword high.

  But Angela del Fuego was no longer looking at them. She was looking up at the monitor with great curiosity. She, above all, knew that this was not her promo tape. She watched Ray Lyons from September 25. And she listened, along with two million viewers across Florida and the Southeast, as old Mr. Lombardo's voice asked him, "Mr. Lyons, what are you going to do about Century Towers? That's my home."

  She heard him answer, "I'm going to let it sink back into the swamp. I'm Ray Lyons. I can do whatever the hell I like!"

  Mr. Lombardo's voice protested, "That's the home to a lot of elderly people."

  Ray Lyons replied, "Every time I go there I see nothing but old people. If you want to make money at that mall, open up a Depends undergarment outlet."

  I heard Mr. McKay's voice over the headset. He was yelling to me, "That's it! Go to black! Go to black!"

  I didn't respond, so he yelled to someone back at the station, "Take over the feed," and that was the last I heard. The screen went black.

  I looked out. Angela was still gazing up at the Sony monitor with a puzzled expression. Bill was draped over the broken board. The two deputies were holding up Karl, who was now limp. One paramedic fit him into a Velcro straitjacket while another set up a stretcher.

  A few seconds later the monitor came back to life with the real Angela Live promo. Angela threw up her hands in confusion. Philip Knowlton appeared from the back room. He was actually spinning in a circle, like he didn't know which way to go. I pulled my tape out of the slot. Then I walked over to Arcane, where chaos reigned.

  Kristin reached me first. "My god, Roberta. What did you do?"

  I told her, "I used the power of the media. I used it to help us survive."

  She repeated, "My god, Roberta."

  Sam and Will came up to me. Sam said, "What was that? What did you do?"

  "It's better if you don't know." Sam started to say something else, but I had to cut him off. "I'm sorry, you guys. I can't talk. I have to go."

  "Go where?"

  "This is the blame part. This is the responsibility part."

  Sam insisted, "I'm going with you."

  "No, you're not. It has to be me. Me alone."

  I spun around and nearly crashed into the stretcher. The paramedics were wheeling Karl away. Kristin stepped in front of them. She demanded to know, "Where are you taking my brother?"

  The straitjacket guy told her, "We're taking him to Atlantic Regional."

  "Can we see him there?"

  "I don't know." The guy pointed at the deputies. "The sheriff's department will have to decide from there."

  Kristin's hand shot up to her mouth. "Oh, my god, Roberta! They'll take him right to the Positive Place."

  I took Karl's bony hand in mine. I whispered in his ear, "Thanks, cuz. Thanks for the chance."

  But Karl's eyes were staring vacantly at the ceiling. The window was now closed.

  I told Kristin, "You go with Karl. Call your dad from the hospital."

  She looked down toward the office. "You should come with us, too. You should get out of here."

  "No. No, the plan's not finished yet. I have something to say to Mr. Ray Lyons."

&nb
sp; We set off in our different directions. I hurried down to the mall office. The whole Ray Lyons family was still seated in front of the wall of TV sets, like they were hypnotized.

  I ducked inside, followed immediately by Suzie. She screamed at me, "I watched that crazy show from in here. What happened?"

  "I don't know. It was my first time in the booth. I guess I got the tapes messed up."

  "Messed up? Roberta, I was at that interview. It was right here in this office. Mr. Lyons never said those things."

  The door flew open and Richard Lyons stormed in. His tan face was tinged with red. Suzie looked at him. She continued to scream at me, but now it was in behalf of Ray Lyons. "How—how dare you treat Mr. Lyons and his family this way, after all he has done for the mall!"

  But Richard Lyons had come in to do his own screaming, first at Suzie. "What are you talking about? What did she do?"

  "She switched the videotapes."

  Richard Lyons stepped toward me menacingly. "My father owns this mall. He is one of the most important men in this state, you little ... nobody! I promise you—you are going to pay for this stunt for the rest of your life."

  The door banged open again and a horde of angry people flooded in—Knowlton, Daley, Ray Lyons, Angela, Mrs. Knight.

  It was Bill who got to me first. "You did this! You put that tape in, didn't you!"

  But Angela cut him off. "Oh, shut up, Bill. What were you doing out of the booth? It was your responsibility, not the intern's."

  Bill sputtered, "I'm not going to take the fall for this."

  Angela told him, "Yes, you are." And she told Mrs. Knight. "You are, too. You brought this kid to the show. You're responsible for her." Then she turned to me with cold, hard eyes. "As long as I am working in television, in any capacity, you will not be. You got that?"

  Everybody seemed to be yelling and threatening me at the same time. Philip Knowlton turned out to be the voice of reason. He raised his arms straight up to get order. "Quiet! Be quiet! Listen to me: Every news station in South Florida has a crew on the way. This is the lead on the nightly news unless we kill it dead. Now."